


In Confidence

by Destril



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Geralt is confused but willing to help, Jaskier has a network of women he knows and works with to help other women, Jaskier helps women, Jaskier isn't a womanizer, Protective!Geralt, Semi-vivid descriptions of injuries, Smart Jaskier, Strong Female Characters, discussion of domestic abuse, discussions of torture, headcannon, hurt!Jaskier, various original characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22391788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destril/pseuds/Destril
Summary: After yet another encounter with an angry husband Geralt learns a little more about the bard he has been traveling with.OrJaskier isn't a mindless womanizer and has a huge network of woman he has met and/or helped over the years, now including a confused but helpful Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 299





	1. Truths

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into the Witcher fandom, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head.
> 
> Based almost completely on the show for ease of newer folks in the fandom. This is technically a one shot, but I will add other chapters that are part of this story setting that relate to this one.
> 
> TW: Mentions of domestic/physical/mental/sexual abuse and torture but so far nothing on screen.

The shouting of yet another irate husband had driven the Witcher and his Bard from the third town in as many months, and Geralt's patience was wearing ever thinner. Jaskier could see it in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his jaw remained clenched, head down in a trained habit to shuck the gazes that clung to his broad frame.

The most recent man had claimed that his wife had left him after the bard had taken her to bed. He had spit and screamed about how he was going to slit the singer's throat for stealing her from him. Far too familiar with this kind of tirade, Jaskier had joked and laughed with the other drunken patrons in the bar, diverting the man's focus enough to gather his coin and lute before making a break for the door. The man had taken chase, as they always did, and Jaskier had twisted and turned through the streets until, unlike usual, his luck had run out.

The man had advanced on the younger, who found his back to an unfortunate wall. It wasn't until the husband was a mere meter away that Jaskier saw the glint of a dagger and realized just how serious the situation had become, and in turn, how much danger he actually faced. Panic sinking in, he began to do what he did best. Jaskier began to talk.

Frantic words spilled past his lips as he tried desperately to talk the other man down from his heady rage. The other didn't listen, only advanced, seeming to take pleasure at faking jabs and slashes to see the bard flinch and dance to avoid the feints.

Jaskier had known the moment the game was no longer fun, however, as the man's face slipped into a cold mask and he took a firm step forward.

Tensing, Jaskier shifted his weight, and as the man lunged forward, the smaller man twisted and stepped forward as well in an attempt to slip around the other's side while he was off balance and run again. It worked, for the most part. Jaskier had managed to get around the other, but the knife had managed to drag across his ribs and catch on his arm in a shallow but painful bite.

From there, he had run back to the tavern, managing to gain enough of a lead as to be able to slip into the stables where he found Geralt and Roach. The Witcher had been angry as the bard urged them to leave immediately, and those piercing amber eyes had lingered on the blood on his fine silk jerkin, but ultimately he had agreed to leave the town.

Now, as they walked the worn road by the soft light of the moon, Jaskier could do nothing but keep his head down and, for once, wait for the other man to break the silence.

For after traveling with the man for some time, Jaskier had finally learned how to read the other. There were layers to the Witcher's anger, and Jaskier had become versed in each intimately over their time together. This anger was one of the more potent ones. He could break the silence, and oh how he yearned too, but this anger was the explosive kind. The interruption of this anger more often than not leads to many hurtful words being thrown in a blaze of fury though often regretted and then a parting of ways or even more oppressive silence.  
So for once, the silver-tongued bard kept quiet.

And that silence remained until, without a word to his companion, the Witcher lead Roach off of the trail into the forest. A few moments later found him tying the mare to a nearby tree and gently relieving her of her tack and their bags. Jaskier huffed slightly at the other's indifference to him and went to begin collecting firewood as had become his job. He could feel that uncomfortable tug on his injuries with each tug on the fallen wood, but he couldn't feel any of the warm stickiness of fresh blood, so he ignored it for now. Once they had a fire, he would use the medical supplies he had taken to carrying to treat them.

Not much later, there was a strong fire lit, and their bedrolls had been laid down. Geralt sat silently on the other side of the fire, watching with impassive, but sharp eyes as Jaskier pulled off his upper layers and used some water to soak the fabric of his undershirt that stuck to the wound.

"You would be far more liked if you kept your cock to yourself. The next time an angry husband or brother comes for you, you can find your own way."

Jaskier glanced up and scoffed.

"Now Geralt no need to be cold! You know that I am but a humble slave in the face of such supple beauty of the fairer sex. Each moment that these beggars hands are allowed to lay upon their soft skin is worth any danger! Tis one of the many blessings the gods offered to man."

Not expecting any response, as usual, the bard went back to cleaning the long slice on his chest, becoming entirely focused on his task once more. After another minute or two, he was forced to stop, however, as he felt the pressing heat of the other's eyes upon him.

Exasperated, Jaskier glanced up to meet the other man's gaze only to blink in confusion. Geralt was staring at him, eyes squinted in the way they usually became when the brute was trying to puzzle something out. Jaskier watched the other for another few moments before he couldn't help but comment.

"Is there anything I can help you with, dear Witcher? I understand I am hard to resist, but I can't help but-"

"You're lying."

Jaskier cut off abruptly and furrowed his brows.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just then, when you were talking about the woman, your heart rate spiked."  
The bard scoffed and began to apply a salve to his chest, but he couldn't help the small tensing of his shoulders.

"Well, of course, it did Geralt, you know not all of us pretend to be emotionless brutes. Usually when one talks about a beautiful woman their heart will-"

"No. You were lying, there is no mistaking that, but why? What are you hiding, bard?"

Geralt was peering at him with even more intensity now, and despite himself, Jaskier felt a nervous laugh bubble from his throat, though he tried to cut it off.

"Honestly Geralt I mean no offense when I say this, but you have never once in all our travels together given two shits worth about myself or my life outside of these little adventures, so I mean this in the nicest way when I say, is it really any business of yours who I bed?"

"Hmm."

The younger man shook his head as he tied off the bandage around his chest and let his shirt fall back into place as he began to make quick work of the small cut on his arm.

"I mean truly Geralt I don't comment on your own rather frequent sex life."

"But that's just it, Jaskier, you don't have one to comment on. At least not often."

Jaskier had to work hard to keep his movements steady, and his voice uninterested as he replied.

"Oh, and what would make you say that? I believe my rather angry encounters as of late might beg to differ."

The Witcher growled slightly at the mention of their unfortunate luck as of late but did not allow that to distract him, pity.

"I'm a Witcher, I can smell the sex on a person from ten meters out. You come back from your woman's homes late at night, but you only smell of them, not their seed. So talk bard, what is it that you do to occupy your time so late into the night?"

Finally, the bard looked up and met the other's gaze, his face oddly calm as the other called his bluff. He shifted around a little and began to put away his medical supplies as he finally spoke in a soft tone.

"We often call woman the fairer sex, or gentle maidens or any other hundreds of terms, but you are not blind Geralt, you know likely better than most what happens to the woman in small towns. Not everyone can live in a palace or find a respectable gentleman to sweep them off their feet. Some women must settle or do what it takes to survive, but one thing remains regardless, their voices are unheard, and strength is looked down upon."

Geralt grunted in reply, his mind drifting briefly to a young girl driven to madness by fear and hate, the other hurt, but more powerful than she could have ever hoped for now.

"The man in the last town, his wife's name was Balina, a lovely young thing with the most beautiful eyes and most fantastical tales I've ever heard. A born storyteller and smart as they come. Why if she is managed to make it to Oxenfurt as she said she would then I can only imagine the wonderful things she is accomplishing right this very moment."

Jaskier was smiling softly now, staring at the fire.

"From the way her husband was talking, I think she may have made it. You see Geralt, I met her several months back. She was at the tavern where I was performing, and we caught each other's eye, and as soon as I could leave the stage, I went to her. We retreated to my room, and it was there that we began to talk.

Oh, we talked for hours Geralt, and she spun for me such wonderful tales, and I, in turn, told her of the world. She was so bright Geralt, so young and still caught in the sway of wanderlust and curiosity."

The bard's smile turned sad as he recounted his time with the woman, and Geralt could only listen to the strangely subdued man.

"She was already married though, promised as a child to another man to repay a debt and oh how he treated her. He drank them into squalor and beat her at any slight, blamed her for the misery they both lived in. She told me that she had listened to my songs and wanted to run away with me to all the wonderful places in my ballads, but she was afraid if she tried to leave he would kill her. I wanted to promise her that wouldn't happen, but I refused to lie to her. So instead we spent the entire night telling stories and speaking of the world and when morning came I gave her all the coin I had and told her of a woman I knew in Oxenfurt who would take her in, would help her to get an education and a new life if that is what she wanted. I left the same day and never knew what had happened to her until tonight."

Geralt was a little stunned by the bard's words, but his heartbeat never stuttered, and even without that, the Witcher could hear the truth and emotion in the other man's voice.

"And you do this with all the women you meet? Fill them with tales of a better life and send them on their way?"

Jaskier chuckled softly, and the smile returned his voice rising to more normal tones, but still held that same tone of fondness.

"No, no, of course not, sometimes we simply fulfill our needs and part ways. But Geralt, not all women want to fall into bed with a poor, road-weary bard while their husband lurks in the alley nearby. Some women just want a sympathetic ear, stories of beyond the walls of their little town, company of another without any expectancy or any other number of things. And it just so happens that I have made a name for myself as one such person who can offer that to them."

"Hmmm."

"I am sorry that we keep getting run out, Geralt. I know its hard enough to find somewhere to stay being what you are, and my songs can only do so much to sway the public, but I will not stop what I have been doing. If a woman comes to me to have my ear, I won't turn her away, even if I must bare the fury of our cover alone. I have made far too many connections and even more friends too ever care about all that other stuff. But in the future I will endeavor to not drag you into it as well. How sounds that? Fair?"

The Witcher stared at the other man for a long moment before grunting and laying down to face away and sleep. Jaskier grinned and carefully laid down on his own bedroll, allowing memories of Balina's stories to slowly carry him into sleep.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fire, Geralt couldn't help but find himself reassessing his opinion of the noisy bard and deciding that the next time an angry husband came after the other man, his blade may find its way between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think or about your own head cannons!
> 
> Next Chapter:
> 
> "You, Witcher, you are Jaskier's companion, are you not?"
> 
> "I'm not-"
> 
> "You are Geralt of Rivia, right? The one the Dandelion sings of?"
> 
> "Yes."
> 
> The woman nods firmly and hands him a key.
> 
> "You may rest here for the night, any friend of Jaskier's is a friend of mine. Please try not to cause any trouble during your stay though, the others are not as friendly as I."


	2. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt receives an unusual contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the support so far for this story! I am bolstered on by every comment and kudos! I really think I can have some fun with this idea! No Jaskier in this chapter because I wanted to have Geralt get a better understanding of the situation, but I promise our favorite bard will be back next chapter!
> 
> ==Due to my college going online for a while due to Corona you may notice an increase in updates for my stories for a short time!
> 
> **General trigger warning I guess for domestic abuse discussions though no actual abuse written in this!

The constant drizzle of cold rain seeped into every seam of his armor, and Geralt could feel his mood darkening in time with the sky. Beneath him, Roach let out an annoyed snort as she splashed through yet another deeper puddle of mud on the pockmarked road, and he leaned down and patted her neck sympathetically. He knew that he would be spending much of his remaining coin on spoiling the temperamental mare if he wanted to keep his fingers next time he tried to insert his bit. No fury like a spurned mare he had learned.

His last hunt had been a success and netted him enough coin, but due to the difficulty of the kill, most of the hard-earned metal had gone to supplies for restocking his potions and ingredients to make oils and salves. He would need to find another contract sooner than he had wanted, but it was comforting to know he was once again fully stocked.

A little ways ahead, he could see the tips of the low walls of a town. Taking pity on his loyal mare, the Witcher slid off Roach and lead her the rest of the way on foot.

Geralt studiously ignored the dark and suspicious looks that the few townsfolk threw him as he walked into the town center and made his way towards the largest building. It was rather run-down, but the warm firelight coming from within and the sound of talking turned its ragged disrepair into something more lived in and homely in appearance.

He managed to track down the stablehand and get Roach situated in the least drafty stall he could find before taking his meager coin and heading inside.

He was too used to the shift in atmosphere his presence often brought to be offended when the cheer immediately quieted as all eyes turned to follow his progress across the room. With a small resigned hum, he steadily made his way to the counter where a young man stood waiting, disdain already evident on his face.

"We don't want your kind here Witcher, just move along and leave us in peace."

"I just want to stay the night, I'll be gone by sunrise, no trouble."

The young man crossed his arms with a huff.

"It's never no trouble with your type, now I already said, move-"

Before the boy could finish the threat, an older woman appeared at the counter from the kitchens and scowled at the boy, purposely placing herself slightly in front of him.

"Charlie, make yourself useful and go grab another cask from the cellar. I won't have you driving off my patrons."

Charlie made a low growling sound and muttered something unsavory before slinking away to the nearby staircase.

"You, Witcher, you're Jaskier's companion, aren't you?"

"I'm not-"

"You are Geralt of Rivia, are you not? The one Dandelion sings of?"

"Yes."

The woman nods firmly and hands him a key.

"You may rest here for the night, any friend of Jaskier is a friend of mine. Please try not to cause any trouble during your stay though, the others are not as friendly as I."

Geralt was more than a little surprised by the sudden shift in reception and turn of events. He thought of arguing the point further, but if being the annoying bard's friend for the night got him a room, he wasn't a fool enough to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Grunting a thanks, he pulled his coin pouch out of his pocket but was stopped by the innkeeper.

"No, none of that, I gave you your key already. This one night is on me."

Something was off about this, and it made the Witcher uneasy.

"What?"

The innkeeper looked at him for a long moment before lowering her voice slightly.

"Go to your room Witcher, I'll be up in a moment with some food. It is not always safe to speak about such matters."

Completely lost at this point, but his curiosity peaked, Geralt chose to nod and accept the key, making his way up the creaking stairs to the room indicated on the key tag.

Once inside the modest room, he placed his gear down near the bed and took a seat on the firm mattress, not bothering to take off any of his equipment. Something about this whole situation put him on edge, and he wanted to be ready to leave in a hurry when things inevitably went sideways. 

He didn't have to wait long before there was a polite knock on the door. Rising, he stalked over and opened it, expecting to see the innkeeper, but instead was met with a young, unfamiliar girl. Upon the door opening, she startled and looked up at him nervously. 

"Pardon me, Master Witcher, but I was told this is where you were rooming."

"Hmm."

His lack of response seemed to only increase her nerves as she fisted her hands into the hem of her skirt and cast her eyes away from his own.

"My name is Iris. May I please come in? I- I'd rather not discuss such matters in the hall."

Geralt cocked an eyebrow at the phrasing and, despite his confusion and every instinct, stepped back and allowed the young woman to quickly shuffle inside. 

He allowed the door to swing closed and purposely didn't lock it before stepping away slightly and crossing his arms, staring at his new guest expectantly. She stared at the floor for a moment more before her head jerked up.

"I was told you would help me!"

Ah, a contract, and likely something personal based on all this dancing around and subterfuge. 

"Maybe I can, depends on what happened."

The relief on the young woman's face was concerning considering he hadn't actually taken the job yet, but regardless he retook his seat on the bed and gestured to a nearby chair, which she took gratefully. 

"I- well you see I was recently wed, we have been sweethearts for years, and I was overjoyed when he finally asked the question. It was the happiest day of my life."

Another widow it seemed, he hadn't heard anything about killings in this area, so it may have been the beasts first. Hopefully, he would be able to deal with it before it struck again.

"We were so happy that day, but that night… That night something changed. It was our wedding night so I expected us to be intimate… and we were and it was wonderful! But afterward, he became cold and distant, wouldn't even sleep the rest of the night in the same room as me."

So the husband was involved in something, maybe even the creature itself? Geralt began to carefully comb through the list of monsters he knew who would fit this description and half-listened to see if any other details stood out to narrow it down. 

"After that, he began to act completely different, but only at home! Out in public and at work he was the exact same, but at night when he came home he would get so angry. At first it would be just some of the bigger things that most people get angry about, a bad trade at the market, a lame mule, some ruined grain. Then it was smaller things though. The soup was cold when he got home, the other men's wives made them new things, the bed wasn't made the right way."

Her voice began to tremble as the Witcher listened silently, golden eyes boring into her.

"He was just so angry. He yelled and yelled and broke the pottery and the chairs. It was horrid, like he was a completely different person than the one I married."

She trailed off for a second, her eyes casting up to meet his for a moment, and Geralt's brow creased a little as he noticed the shine of tears in her eyes before she looked down and spoke in an emotion strangled voice.

"And then he started to hit me."

The Witcher staid silent as she took a sharp breath and visibly tried to reign in her emotions, taking another minute or so before looking up and meeting his gaze with a new determination. 

"I didn't say a word. He beat me and screamed at me and I just took it. But now it's different. I'm with child, and I refuse to have my baby anywhere near that monster!"

That when it finally dawned Geralt. This wasn't a monster contract, this was a hit.

"I'm not sure who told you I could help you, but I am not a hitman or a mercenary. I don't take contracts for humans, only monsters."

"He is a monster!" she snarled.

"I mean creatures. Not humans."

Suddenly the woman looked very unsure of herself.

"But, but you're Geralt of Rivia? Jaskier said, you were safe?"

Geralt growled lowly at the mention of the eccentric bard. Of course, he was involved in this mess. He was about to tell the woman he could help her and ask her to leave, but the last of her words stood out. 

"What do you mean, he said I was safe?"

The woman looked to be at a complete loss now, but she answered him in a steady tone.

"Ellina told me about the other woman, about how she and Dandelion had helped another woman from this town to get away from a monster. She said that he had sent out a message marking you as safe. That if something happened, we could come to you, and you would help us like he did that other woman."

What was this woman talking about..? Suddenly that conversation he had had with the bard all those months ago by the fireside came back to him. About Jaskier helping women to get away from their homes and go somewhere else, and everything started to fall into place. Damn that bard! What did he think he was doing spreading such falsities about Geralt? He was a monster hunter!

"Did he speak true, Witcher? Will you help me?"

Geralt regarded the woman with a piercing gaze, still cursing the bard mentally for getting him into this mess. 

"Hmm. What do you want?"

Iris startled slightly, seemingly not expecting the question and looked down as she thought it over.

"I have a sister a few villages east of here, but it's too far for me to make it alone on foot, but if you could get me to the village north of her then I know a trader there that would be willing to take me on their next trip to the eastern towns. Please, Witcher, I don't have much, but I have been saving for months for a chance like this, and I know I will not be able to make the trip if I wait too long. I can pay you any sum, just please help me."

The Witcher had leaned forward during her answer, bracing his elbows on his knees and let out a low hum as she finished. Geralt was genuinely unsure of what to do.

Taking the woman to the next town would be easy enough, but should he? He was sympathetic for the young mother to be, but the road was dangerous, and once she reached the northern town, she may not even be able to make a deal with the trader. There were many risks to this idea. Feeling it necessary, he voiced this concern in short bursts, trying to get across the seriousness of her request, but he couldn't help the flare of respect that kindled as she straightened up and stared him down. 

"It would be worth every risk to be away from here."

Silence fell between them for a few more minutes before Geralt gave a grunt and stood.

"Fine, I'll take you north, but we leave tomorrow. Go home and gather only what you can carry and meet me here at sunrise tomorrow. I won't wait."

Fresh tears sprung to the woman's eyes, but she held them back and thanked him in the strongest voice she could manage before hurrying from the room, leaving Geralt to slump back to his bed with a long, put out sigh through his nose. 

The next time he saw the bard, they would be having a very long talk. 

\--------------------

The next morning the pair set off, Geralt setting a brisk pace on foot as Iris rode on a somewhat disgruntled Roach. 

They only stopped once for a quiet midday meal before continuing on their way. The Witcher could only thank the gods that Iris turned out to be a less chatty companion then the current aim of his now permanent ire, but she was a curious young woman as he came to find out. 

The few conversations they did have, short as they were, all involved the many potions and reagents he carried on his person. 

It turned out that she had apprenticed with an apothecary when she was younger and had rather extensive knowledge of the different herbs and plants of this area. As it was, Geralt came away from these conversations with new substitutes for his more familiar salves and ingredients that he would be able to harvest in this region and a little less dismay at his current task. Though he was still not pleased about his apparent new status as a white knight to be sought for help like the twittering bard. 

It was nearly evening by the time they reached the town, and the pair immediately made their way to a local inn where Iris insisted on paying for two rooms for them to spend the night as well as a warm meal. 

As they sat in the corner, Iris put her spoon down and met his gaze. 

"Thank you again for this, Witcher. I know that things are still uncertain for me, but I am certain that by doing this, you saved not only my life, but my child's as well."  
Uncomfortable in the face of genuine thankfulness, Geralt could only hum a low response and, after meeting her eyes briefly, took a long sip of his mead. Iris took no offense to this, however, instead allowing her features to soften slightly and a small smile to grace her lips.

"Dandelion was right, you know, in his songs. You are a good man, Geralt of Rivia, despite what others will say about you and your kind. Thank you again, and be safe on your travels. Maybe one day we will meet again."

She rose from her seat, pulling a small coin pouch from her skirts and laying it on the table as she turned to leave, but froze as a rough, calloused hand came to rest over her own. Confused, she turned and met his gaze, and he pushed the purse and her hand closer to her.

"Keep your coin, you will need it to reach the eastern village."

Iris looked almost as if she were going to protests, but after a brief glance between him and the hand on her own, she instead nodded and carefully pulled her hand and pouch away, tucking it back into her skirts.

"Thank you Geralt, may the Gods watch over your travels."

"Good luck."

The Witcher purposely didn't watch as the woman walked away, instead going back to watching the tavern's patrons as they continued to enjoy their evening. 

\--------------------

The next morning he rode Roach from the village and pointed her towards a town to the south of here where he had heard rumors in the tavern last night that there had been a mysterious series of deaths on the outer fringes. He was unaware of another story beginning to spread, one of the Witcher who helped those in need and was safe. A story passed from one woman to the next along a series of connections unknown to those outside their fold, of the new man in their midst who would help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you thin about the story and any ideas or thoughts you have on this concept! I love hearing from you guys and comments and kudos are a real encouragement to keep going when I get stuck!


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman and her daughter find Geralt with a desperate plea for help, but not for them. Jaskier has been captured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again folks! So this turned out to be way longer then previous chapters (Almost 8k!!) but I'm pretty happy with it! This was birthed from a fantastic prompt the Tamuril2 dropped in the comments, thank you so much again for the prompt!! 
> 
> _Prompt: Geralt arrives in a town - wet, tired, and a liiitle beat up from the last monster (ie: more grumpy than usual). As he gets settled into his room, two women come to see him. It becomes apparent they're Jaskier's "women". Sigh. Another White Knight mission? Really? He's going to seriously need to buckle down and find Jaskier to Talk About This. Only....it's not them or a woman these two want him to rescue. It's Jaskier! See, Jaskier got a mother and her daughter out of a reeeeally bad situation. Good news? Mother and daughter are out and safe. Bad news? The husband caught Jaskier. The other female servants of the Lord have reported he's torturing Jaskier in attempt to make him tell the Lord where his wife and daughter are hiding. No go. It's been a week and Jaskier is silent (when he's not screaming in pain). But the Lord is getting tired of waiting. The women dear he'll do something more, perhaps even kill Jaskier. Geralt is his friend, right? He'll save him, won't he?  
> _

Geralt was always wary of towns. Towns brought contracts and coin, but also scorn and suspicion and far, far too many people. It made the Witcher's skin crawl to feel so many humans packed in around him, their eyes constantly clinging to him, their very existence nearly overwhelming his heightened senses. 

He had spent more time in towns over the last few years, thanks to a rather annoying burr of a man he had picked up on his travels. The troubadour's loud, insistent complaints proved far more unbearable then the superstition townsfolk, though the bard's presence did have its benefits at times as well, if only in the warm baths that Geralt had begrudging come to enjoy and, shall he cut his own tongue out before he ever admits it, anticipate after a lengthy contract. 

He wouldn't mind one of those long soaks today. His armor clung to his skin in chafing patches of damp, and those spots that had managed to dry remained crusted with sea salt and sand. To put it frankly, Geralt was the most uncomfortable and tired he's been in a while. 

At that exact moment, Roach took a harder step than usual on a patch of uneven turf, sending a spike of pain from his various bruises and his surely fractured ribs. Damn the alderman of this town, he had severely understated the size of that Koshchey, and Geralt ought to demand double after the fight he had to endure against the massive beast. Just one, he's said, no more than the size of a gelding. Geralt would sure love to meet the gelding on which the alderman was basing his description, for it must truly be awe-inspiring in its size!

The Witcher couldn't help the low, frustrated growl that bubbled out of his throat, causing a nearby man to startle and pick up his walking pace to put some distance between them as Geralt rode deeper into the village. 

It was short work to get his money, a right amount more than the originally agreed-upon price, and dispose of the trophy. As it was, he now had ample coin to rent a room, and a steaming bath, for the night before moving on in the morning. 

Geralt paid the innkeeper for a small room, bath, and proper care and feed for Roach, before trudging up the stairs. As soon as he entered the room, he made for the small table on the other side, already pulling at the straps of his swords and dropping them onto the surface with a loud clunk. He made short work of the outer pieces of armor and various clasps holding the thicker under layers in place. The instantaneous relief he felt from removing the salt-crusted leather was indescribable, even if the motions pulled at the various cuts and bruises that littered his body where those deadly sharp claws had torn into his thick gear. In no time at all, he had managed to strip down to his rough spun trousers and shirt and begin working on cleaning and oiling the armor pieces. He hadn't planned on doing this again for some time, but it seemed silly to not just do it now when he would already be spending so much time with it. 

About halfway through his efforts, a young man brought the tub for his bath as two other lads followed him with steaming buckets. As soon as they left, the Witcher abandoned his task for later and with an eagerness that disgusted him, filled the bath with that deliciously hot water and sunk in deep, barely remembering to grab a chunk of soap from his kit. He couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed by the low moan that fell from his lips as his knotted muscles began to ease, and the dull ache of his bruised torso faded back to a shallow ebbing. It lacked the lavished scents and salts of those prepared by the bard, but he didn't care much. 

He allowed himself to soak far longer than he usually would, basking in the rare chance to have the bath to himself from boiling to cold. When the water had finally lost all its heat, he finally heaved himself from the basin and dressed in his spare clothing before deciding to go down and order a warm meal to be brought up. 

The town was relatively large, and the number of people gathered in the tavern downstairs reflected this, dampening the calm that Geralt had found during his soak. Moving through the crowds, he quickly made his way to the bar and requested the stew and a strong drink, paying the rather reasonable price before moving away back toward the stairs. He had made it nearly halfway through the overcrowded space when he felt the prickle of eyes on him. Not slowing his pace in the slightest, he continued to move towards the stairs, but his gold eyes began to roam, using the excuse of looking at nearby people and dodging harried servers to twist his body this way and that to give him a full view of the room. 

The woman was sitting on the far side of the room, her heavy cloak and cowl hiding most of her features, but he could tell immediately that her eyes were tracking him. He felt himself tensing at the fact that she made no move to look away when he swept his gaze over her a second time. She was either extremely inexperienced at this, or she was confident enough in her abilities that she wanted him to know she was coming. Neither boded particularly well for him, but he dared not make a scene in such a public place. On the off chance she was not here to kill him and was instead just an overly curious local he risked angering the entire town, and if she wasn't, well it was more likely that the other patrons would hold him down while she killed him then step in should it come to a fight. Instead, Geralt simply climbed the stairs back up to his room and sat down to clean his armor. If she was as bold an assailant as she seemed, she'd wait till the night crowd picked up, that way, the noise would be enough to cover any sounds made by a fight. That gave him another hour or two to finish cleaning his gear and to eat a full meal. Not the worst way this night could go, he mused, and he grabbed his chest plate and set to work.

#

He had long since finished cleaning his equipment, and after a short debate, redressed in his armor when he finally heard the sound of soft, shuffling footsteps lingering outside of his door. He leaned back in the chair and carefully rested his hand on the hilt of a long knife. He would allow his attacker to make the first move. Luckily he didn't need to wait long. 

He tensed, ready to spring to his feet and meet the attack, whatever it was, head-on. If they were smart, they would throw a knife or-

_Knock. Knock_

Geralt's thoughts stuttered to a halt at the soft sound. They were, knocking? Maybe it was a ploy to catch him unawares, that must be the case. Huffing in annoyed respect for the interesting tactic Geralt called out for them to enter. After all, no need to go to the door and make this even easier for them.

There was a long pause where the person on the other side seemed to hesitate before the handle rattled slightly and turned, the door swinging inwards as all of his muscles coiled. He relaxed, however, at the sight of the woman from before now accompanied by a small child. 

He could hear their racing hearts from here, even if the fear and apprehension on their faces hadn't already revealed they were, in fact, no here to kill him. The pair shuffled inside the door, and the woman tentatively pushed the door closed behind her, shuffling them forward while a tight grip on the child kept her close to her skirts. 

"Are-" The woman started to speak, her voice stammering and breathless before she cut herself off and took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. 

"Are you the one they call the White Wolf? Geralt of Rivia?"

Geralt remained silent as he watched the woman stiffen under his steady gaze. 

"It depends who's asking."

The woman stiffened at the low growl of his voice, but a look of determination replaced the fearful set of her face, and she straightened as though trying to appear bigger.

"We need your help."

And just like that, Geralt knew why she was here. She was one of Jaskier's women. He felt his mood instantly sour as he swept an appraising eye over the two before him. What would it be this time? Another woman looking for an escort, pleading for him to go help some other woman who had fallen victim to the evils in a man's heart? This was ridiculous. He was a Witcher, a mutant and a monster, not some white knight who saved women and children and was the safe arms to run to when in fear. 

He hadn't minded the last woman, he worked on contract and had been hired as an escort for caravans and travelers before, but that was only when he was already on the road heading in that direction and because of a higher than average monster population causing threats on the road. The next time he saw the flamboyant nuisance of a bard, he would sit the man down and have a long, forceful discussion about this new habit of spreading his name around like some sort of wandering hero. The songs had been bad enough, but at least they had been helpful. This was not helpful. Being around him was dangerous, and these women brought their own with them. 

"You have a contract?"

"Well, no-"

"Then I can't help you. Go to the guards, they can help you."

"Dandelion said you-"

"The bard was mistaken. I'm a Witcher, I hunt monsters-"

"He is a monst-"

"Enough, I can't help you! If you don't have a contract, then we are done he-"

"Dandelion was captured!"

Geralt swallowed his next denial as the woman cut him off with a panicked shout.

"What?" He growled as the woman set her jaw even as he caught the telltale shine in her eyes, the little girl had cowered back into her skirts at some point, but was now watching him with wide, fearful eyes. 

The woman took a deep breath before tugging her hood down and staring at him, jaw set, fists clenched. 

"My name is Claria Heminsbrook. My husband is the lord of this region. He is a cruel man, and thinks no more of striking his wife and daughter then one would a mongrel dog. It was becoming worse, and my handmaiden tried to help us leave, but we were alone and had nowhere to go. She said she knew of a group of women who would help us escape, would help us find a new life somewhere safe."

She took a steadying breath.

"They said they would contact us, send someone to come get us out, so we waited and waited and had begun to lose hope entirely, when a wandering bard arrived one day asking to entertain in the keep. The lord excepted, and the bard played for the guests and us each night for nearly a week before my handmaiden brought him to my room in the middle of the night. It was then that he explained his part in all this and how he planned to help us leave and never look back. He had it all planned out, and we were set to leave the next night. But the Lord is a paranoid and jealous man. He had grown suspicious of Dandelion and his charms and youthful looks."

Her lip was quivering, and Geralt silently prayed that the woman didn't start crying as he listened with growing apprehension. Claria took another shaky breath before continuing, her tone softer and more distressed.

"He placed a guard to watch my door, and when Master Dandelion came to give us some last supplies to take when we fled, he was seen, and the Lord found out. When he came back the next night to help us escape, the guards were waiting for us. He fought them off, so Torri and I could escape."

Tears ran silently down her elegant face as her voice became more frantic.

"We didn't know about the guards. We didn't know we had been discovered, or we never would have gone through with the plan! Dandelion was captured because of us! Because of me! I cannot offer you a formal contract, but I cannot leave here knowing that a good man is in danger because he helped me. I refuse! He is your friend Witcher! Surely you will help him!"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as Geralt absorbed what he had just been told. The fucking bard had been caught stealing a man's wife and child. That utter fool! And now what? Was the idiot bard even still alive? Even if he was, why should that matter to Geralt? They weren't friends as the woman seemed to believe, rather the stupid man merely pestered and followed Geralt around like a yapping pup while the Witcher tried his best to shake him from his side. 

The troubadour knew what he was getting into, playing hero like this for these women. Why should it be Garelt's concern when his luck finally ran out? No, there was no point.

"How do you even know the bard is still alive?" Geralt cursed his traitorous mouth even as the question fell from his lips startling the Lady across from him

"We-my handmaiden that is has been communicating with the other servants still in the keep. The Lord was...furious when he found out that we had gotten away. He was insistent that Master Dandelion knew where we were hiding. The servants aren't allowed to go down there, but they know that the Lord has imprisoned Master Dandelion and has been tor- um torturing him there for several days. He-he refuses to tell the Lord anything, and they say that they haven't heard the s-screams in several days, but they know he's still alive because the Lord is still going down there. We're worried Master Witcher, we are terrified if the Lord doesn't get information soon, then he'll- he'll kill him."

Her voice faded out at that last part, and she had begun trembling. Geralt turned his head away, his heavy brows furrowed deeply. 

This was not his job! He was not some great hero that the bard's songs told him to be, he was not a good man, and he certainly didn't care about the other man.

Except. He did.

For some reason, his chest had clenched at the idea of the sunny younger man being tortured in the darkness under some cold keep. The other had annoyed him many times, but even despite that, Geralt had always done his best to keep the other out of danger, hating when he was hurt due to Geralt's own carelessness. 

The Witcher gave a growl of annoyance, ignoring the way the woman startled at the sound. He already knew he wouldn't be able to leave the other to his fate. Not when he had been acting with pure intentions despite the many times Geralt had yelled and scorned him for such thankless acts.

"I'll find him."

Claria let out a soft sound somewhere between relief and a sob, but she nodded. Geralt paid no attention as he was already thinking how in the name of the Gods, he was going to not only get inside the keep but to the lower levels. He would need to assume that the bard would be in too bad a condition to make it out under his own power, which meant that Geralt would need to be uncontested on his way out. Putting the other down to fight was an option, but then he was risking a hostage situation or being separated, which would defeat the entire purpose of this. Stealth was not necessarily Geralt's strongest skill set, but his Witcher senses would give him an edge over any guards that would be patrolling the lower levels. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as Claria cleared her throat softly. He turned to meet her gaze and pretended not to notice how she flinched and looked down for a moment as she met his unnatural eyes. 

"I-my handmaiden is still in contact with the other servants. They may be able to get you into the keep, or at least help you to find a way in that doesn't require you to meet with the Lord. They could bring you in through a servant's entrance and use the staff passages to keep you hidden."

"How long has it been since you left? If he's paranoid, we risk extra patrols and posted guards."

She nodded and wavered slightly as her daughter watched them both with rapt attention. Sighing Geralt gestured to the bed behind him and pointedly didn't acknowledge the grateful look, the woman cast him as she shuffled past and settled the pair of them on the rough mattress. Once she made sure her daughter was settled properly, she turned her attention back to Geralt, her face serious, earlier tears replaced by a determined set of her jaw.

"It's been almost a week, but even if it was sooner, he has no reason to believe that anyone would be coming for Master Dandelion. As far as anyone is aware, he was working alone, and I am long gone. That's the only reason he would keep him-keep him alive this long. Because he thinks Master Dandelion knows where I- where we are. I was supposed to meet with a woman that night, she's part of a merchant's caravan, and they were to smuggle us south in the carts to my brother's, but I couldn't bare to just-just leave him! He risked his life to help us. I more than anyone knows just how cruel that man can be, who would I be to trade my safety for another's."

Geralt kept an impassive face in the face of the woman's words, but internally he was impressed. Many in her situation, especially higher born, would have simply continued with the plan excepting that Jaskier was just one of many who would be sacrificed for them. Yet here she sat, risking not only her life but her child's for a complete stranger. It sounded like something out of one of Jaskier's songs.

"Right. I need more information, and I need a plan with the servants to get in and out."

Claria nodded and settled herself more firmly. 

"Of course, what information do you require Master Witcher."

# 

Claria didn't leave until the early hours of the morning. Throughout the night, the pair had managed to create a plan to not only get Geralt in and out of the keep but also a way for them to hide and lay low while Jaskier recovered. 

It would be risky, though Geralt had figured that much would be true, but he hated how much of the plan relied on chance. As a Witcher, he was used to entering situations with little information and even less chance of success, but on contracts, it was just him and the contract. There were too many other factors here, and if things went wrong, the odds of him being able to fight his way out were low. On top of that, he had no way of knowing what state the troubadour would be in after his time in the lower levels. In all honestly, Geralt had very little confidence in the success of this plan.

Regardless of these doubts, however, he was waiting by the home of one of the groundskeepers two night later, his cat-like eyes gleaming in the dark and nearly startling to man to death when he came out to take the Witcher to the servant's entrance. 

The other man, a young dark-haired boy named Regis, was nervous. He prattled on uselessly to Geralt as they slipped across the lower grounds in some attempt to soothe his own nerves, and more then once, Geralt had to stop himself from snapping at the other. He reminded himself how much these people were risking by helping him and that unlike him, they had likely never been in such a dangerous situation. Though given the way Lady Claria had described the Lord of the keep, Geralt doubted they had ever truly felt safe in his employ. 

The moon was reaching its peak when they made it to the servant's entrance on the western side of the keep and were met by one of the chambermaids. She ushered them both inside with fear-filled eyes and flinched when Geralt moved past her, but easily slid the door closed before turning to face them. 

"The Lord retired several hours ago, and the night staff has just started working so the guards aren't too concerned with people moving around right now, but you can't be wearing that."

Regis startled as Geralt glared at the woman in suspicion. This wasn't part of the plan. 

"Tilli what are you talking about, you are supposed to take him through the servant's passage."

Tilli nodded but turned to stare at Geralt, struggling to meet his eyes, but her voice was firm. 

"Not everyone is aware of this plan, and we don't know if we can trust some of the Lord's personal staff. The Lord has been in a truly foul mood since the Lady and her daughter got out, and there are rumors that some of his staff have begun to ask the other staff about where they were that night. I was taken aside just this morning, but luckily I was in the kitchens that night so they couldn't do much with me. The fact of the matter is though that if anyone sees you, this could all fall apart, and we won't get a second chance."

Geralt had been worried something like this would happen, but he was still angry this was the first he heard of it. 

"Fine." He growled, and Tilli nodded, grabbing a nearby basket and shoving it into his arms. 

Get out of all that armor, I borrowed some clothes from Sal that might fit you, though you may be a little smaller than him now that I'm seeing you. Leave those swords of your as well."

Geralt flashed a glare at her as she said that, but she surprisingly glared right back.

"The servant's corridors are too narrow for something that big to be swung about. If you must have something take a knife. If this goes right, you won't be needing neither, but I imagine a man like you always feels the need to have something sharp on ya."

Geralt wanted to argue, it was bad enough he would be armorless, but she was right. He would stick out far too much already, and if the servant's passages were as narrow as the one, they stood in currently she was right that his swords would just be a burden. He still grumbled darkly as he began to quickly unbuckle his outer layers. 

Regis and Tilli respectfully turned their backs as Geralt quickly stripped down and changed into the clothing Tilli had brought. She was right about them being too large, Sal must have been a beast of a man for the shirt to hang off the Witcher this way, but Geralt was able to tuck and roll everything enough that they didn't look so noticeably baggy. He grunted out a low sound, and the pair turned around, Regis staring at him with an odd expression while Tilli swept him with a critical eye.

"There's nothing we can do about those eyes, but we need to cover your hair. Regis give him your cap."

The groundkeeper looked ready to protest, but after a moment, he merely sighed and pulled the worn cap from his head and handed it over. Geralt went to reach for it, but Tilli snatched it before he could, and he turned to regard her.

"Bend down, I need to put your hair up inside it, and you're not gonna be able to do it properly on your own."

Geralt growled lowly in his throat, almost missing the woman's fearful attitude when he had first entered, but knelt down so the shorter woman could reach his head. He watched warily as Tilli tugged the tie from her own hair and circled around the back of him, causing him to tense. He didn't relax any further when he felt her small hands begin to gather up his hair, twisting and tugging it gently until he felt it piled onto his head in a surprisingly secure feeling knot. She settled the cap onto his head and pulled its brim down low on his brow before stepping back in front of him and looking him over again.

"That'll have to do, everyone is doing their own tasks so you won't need to worry much about being stopped. I'll be coming with you down to the dungeons. We'll say that the Lord said the stench of it all is becoming too much, and he wants the cell cleaned. You're coming with me in case the prisoner tries to escape, big man like you. They won't question it much."

Geralt grunted an agreement and rose, tacking the time to tuck a long knife into his lower back before nodding. Regis grabbed the basket that now held all his armor and his wrapped swords and hefted it before heading back to the door.

"I'll be in the groundskeepers quarters, Tilli will take you there after you get Master Dandelion. We can take the cart from there then to get you back to town."

The young man hesitated a long moment before meeting his eyes for the first time that night. 

"Good luck."

Geralt gave a short nod in return, and they waited until the door had swung closed again before Tilli began to walk down the corridor, Geralt following a short distance behind.

She's been right. They passed several servants as they made their way towards the dungeons, but none of them paid them any mind, all too focused on their own tasks to bother with the pair. They made a brief stop to grab a basket of cleaning supplies from one of the storage rooms, to corroborate their story before heading down towards the lower levels. 

Geralt forced himself to take on a slow lumbering pace and keep his shoulder loose as they passed several guards wandering around or stationed at various points, but other then a cursory glance their way, they seemed unbothered by the servant's presence. 

Down they went, the torches and lamps along the walls growing more frequent as they descended further into the keep until finally they stepped off the last set of stairs and Tilli cast him a look. So this was the lowest level. He gave a short nod in return as he continued to follow her. 

Once again, Geralt had to force himself to not react as they approached a guard stationed at the door at the end of the hall. He glanced up and seemed confused, though not yet suspicious of the pair as he waited for them to approach. 

"You shouldn't be down here." The man drawled in a bored tone as he stepped forward to meet them, a hand rested casually on his hilt, though more in a casual, then threatening motion.

Tilli took on a put open expression looking more than a little disgruntled.

"The Lord can apparently smell the stench from the dining hall. He wants the place cleaned out. I was chosen for the honor." She complained with a sneer, and the guard gave her a commiserating look. 

"I know how that goes. What about this fellow?" He asked, turning his gaze to where Geralt still stood behind her, and she shrugged.

"I may have to clean the place, but I'm not fool enough to go in there by myself. He's here to make sure the little snitch doesn't try anything and help me carry anything on the way out. Last thing I need is to get shit all over my uniform and have the matron see me."

Geralt had to admit he was impressed. The woman had seemed rather timid when they had first met, but she lied with the ease of a professional, and it seemed the guard believed her because he nodded and shifted to the side, unlocking the door and shoving it open. 

"I don't envy you that's for certain. Holler if he gets rowdy, though I doubt you'll have much to worry about from that sorry sod. Not sure how he's even alive if I'm to be honest. Don't imagine he's gonna be a problem for much longer at this rate." 

Tilli huffed in fake annoyance and straightened herself up before marching inside while Geralt gave the guard a small nod and slipped past as well. The door closed behind them, but Geralt didn't hear the telltale sound of the lock being replaced. 

It was dark in the dungeons, only a single torch near the door having been lit, but his eyes easily picked out the short row of cell fronts leading deeper down the hall. He stopped himself from flinching at the overwhelming smell of human feces, blood, and fear that permeated the entire space. Next to him, Tilli also had grabbed a handkerchief and held it close to her face, covering her nose as she breathed heavily through her mouth. Reaching into the basket at her hip, she grabbed a cloth and quickly tied it around her face before offering a second one to Geralt. As tempted as he was, he shook his head. He didn't want to dampen any of his senses while they were still in such a dangerous situation. 

Without another word, the pair started forward at a careful pace, peaking into the darkened cells as Tilli took the time to light some of the other torches to allow her to see.

Finally, four cells down, they found him, and Geralt felt something churn in his chest at the sight. 

They had stripped him bare, his pale flesh barely visible beneath the bruising and blood that clung in dirty clumps to him. He lay against the back wall of the cell where a rumpled, soiled blanket lay, seemingly have dragged himself there in an attempt to shield himself from the damp chill of the cell. 

He heard a soft gasp from his side as Tilli caught sight of the other, but Geralt couldn't look away. He heard footsteps hurry away and then a soft jingling sound as the woman returned with the keys, frantically trying several before slotting it onto the lock and opening the door with a horrible screeching of rusting hinges. Even in the dim light, Geralt could see the bard flinch and begin trembling, his entire body tensing at the sound that had likely only ever proceeded pain. 

Moving carefully, Geralt stepped inside of the dingy cell and approached the curled form of the other man. Of his friend. 

Up close, he could make out more. The skin of his back was flayed and red with infection, open lash marks weeping a disgusting mix of pus and blood, creating trailing rivulets through the dirt and grime that covered his entire body. Geralt could make several different shapes in the bruises, telling him easily what had been used to make each. One of his legs sat at an unnatural angle, likely to stop him from trying to run. It was not the worst that Geralt had ever seen done to a man, but that did little to ease the pressure he felt in his lungs. 

"Jaskier." He rasped softly, keeping his voice low as to not startle the other while he carefully lowered himself into a crouch a few steps away. 

Despite the low tone, the troubadour still flinched hard, curling tighter, and Geralt heard a soft broken whispering begin, barely audible.

"Not real, not real, nor real, not real."

The pressure in his chest was nearly choking him now as Geralt made out the broken mantra.

"I'm real. You're safe, bard."

A soft, broken sound escaped the bloody, cracked lips as the bard lifted his head from the tight tuck he had kept before, giving Geralt an easy view of the swollen, bloody state of it just as tears began to leak from pain-filled eyes as they cracked open. 

"No, no no, no no, no no." Jaskier was mumbling as Geralt slowly crept closer, reaching his hand out and projecting his movements as one would with a frightened animal. 

"Jaskier." He kept the touch feather-light, barely a brush against the other's forearm, but the man still flinched violently back, before making a short sound and pressing back into the touch harder, his eyes widening as his eyes darted frantically across the features of Geralt's face.

"G'rlt?"

The fearful hope in his voice tore at something in Geralt's chest as he carefully allowed his entire hand to rest upon the arm. 

"Yes, bard, it's me."

The sound that fell from the shivering man's lips was like that of a wounded animal, keening and full of pain and fear and relief and to Geralt's I handed senses it almost sent him to the floor. Behind him, he could hear Tilli shifting, and he forced himself to focus. They were on borrowed time.

"Jaskier, we need to leave here. I'm getting you out of here."

As the fear wore off, the other man seemed to be drifting, his eyes not as focused as they were a moment ago. He was mumbling Geralt's name quietly as well as some other words even the Witcher couldn't make out. 

Keeping his hand on Jaskier's arm, he turned his attention back too Tilli, who had yet to enter the cell.

"We need to cover him."

She nodded and grabbed a clean linen from the basket that she had brought and approached just enough to hand it off to Geralt before stepping back to the doorway again. He nodded at her, appreciating her caution as to not startle the injured man.

"Jaskier. We are going to leave, but I need you to listen to me. I will carry you, but you must make no sounds and stay absolutely still. Do you hear me, Jaskier?"

Geralt spoke in low tones as he slowly unraveled the sheet and then got into position to help lever the bard up into a position that would allow him to wrap it around the bard. He started to shift the other ever so gently, hyper-aware of every flinch and whine of pain that slipped past those bloody lips. Finally, he had the younger man mostly upright, leaning him forwards against his shoulder as to not put any pressure on his back. 

"Jaskier?"

The man gave a low whine but shifted his head slightly to show he had heard.

"We need to leave, but you cannot be seen. I am going to wrap you in this blanket and then in the dirty one. I will be careful, but it will hurt. You must be as quiet as you can until I tell you we are safe. Do you understand?"

He felt the bard begin to shake against him, and even the Witcher's cold heart ached as the man took several deep breaths, steeling himself before nodding his head ever so slightly. 

"Thank you." Geralt murmured as he carefully brought the cloth around the back of the bard, making sure that the fabric didn't drag across the skin. Despite his care, however, the moment the fabric touched the raw strips of flesh on his back, Jaskier jerked forward and buried a scream into the thick material of Geralt's borrowed shirt. The Witcher froze, allowing the other the relax for a moment even as the sound of ragged sobs reached his ears.

"I'm sorry." He breathed the words into the bard's dirty hair, truly meaning them for the first time in a very long time. 

Jaskier didn't acknowledge him, but he felt a weak movement from where the bard's hands had til this point remained curled tight to his chest. Glancing down, Geralt pulled back slightly, not enough to dislodge the grip, but enough to see where they were now attached to the front of his shirt and what he saw made his blood boil.

_You should be more careful, Geralt, what if you had really hurt yourself?" Jaskier scolded the amused Witcher as his nimble fingers wrapped a cloth tightly around the burnt palms he cradled._

_Geralt had lost his sword during the scuffled and grabbed a hot poker from the nearby fireplace to defend himself. It had worked, and the creature had been brought down long enough for him to regain his silver sword, but the palms of his hands were seared raw._

_"I'm serious, I know you have your fancy Witcher healing, but in your work, your hands are your livelihood! We are quite alike in that regard, I guess. I mean, our chosen professions are rather different-"_

_Geralt gave a snort at the understatement earning him a glare and a pout from the bard before he continued._

_"Oh shush, I'm making a point! As I was saying, yes, our work is extremely different, but when it comes down too it, we both rely completely on our hands for our work."_

_Jaskier easily tied off the knot on the one hand and moved to begin applying the salve on his other as Geralt grunted._

_"You seem to forget bard, that my swords are my livelihood."_

_Said bard hummed lowly. "Well, yes, and I have my lute, but those are just tools. After all, what would we do with such objects if we hadn't the use of our hands? Sure I have my voice, but without the beautiful accompaniment of a song, what are my words, but a story? With my lute, a simple take suddenly becomes a performance! And for you, the mighty White Wolf! You have your Witcher senses and your clever magic and skills, but without your silver sword, how much harder does your work become?"_

_The younger man leaned back as he finished tying off the knot on Geralt's other hand and brought his own long, delicate fingers up between them. He turned them this way, and that and Geralt couldn't help but notice that they were just as calloused as his own, yet in such a different way._

_"A musician's hands are his life, Geralt. Without them, I am no one, just another man who can tell a story."_

_A musician's hands are his life._

The memory of the bard's words and the image of those long, nimble fingers spread out between him all those months ago echoed in his head as he stared down at the ruined ones that now tried to curl around his shirt. 

They were ruined, there was no other word for how they looked now. Several had been broken, twisted, and snapped into unnatural angles, the fingernails that the bard usually kept neatly trimmed and shined gone from their beds. Long slits ran across his palm in a sick parody of tally marks. It made Geralt sick, it made him furious. It made him want to run from this cell and find the man who had done this and tear him into little bloody pieces. It-"

"G'rlt?"

It would wait until Jaskier was gone from this place. Till he was safely hidden and healing far from this cold dungeon where he had already spent too long. 

"I'm here, bard." Geralt answered, tramping every trace of fury from his voice as he felt the smaller man breathe out a shaky sigh of relief into the side of his neck.

With that, the Witcher carefully finished wrapping not just the clean linen around the man, but the dirty blanket from the cell as well doing his best to hush the man's quiet sounds of pain. 

Finally, he was swaddled entirely in the fabrics, and Geralt moved to pick him up. 

"Jaskier? I am going to pick you up. You have to stay still. No matter what happens, you must stay still until I tell you we are safe. Promise me."

The man was already panting and dioecious from the pain, but he managed a short nod and a quiet yes between his panting breaths. That would have to be enough. Looking over to Tilli, he nodded once, and in as smooth a motion as he could manage, he lifted the bard into a bridal carry. Jaskier gave a low wail against his chest but forced himself to remain completely limp as Geralt murmured another apology. 

Seeing him standing again, Tilli bustled forwards and began to pull and tug on the fabric surrounding the bard, making sure that every inch of him was covered and that the blanket was rumpled enough to conceal his shape. For good measure, she rubbed several of her cleaning cloths on the bloody, dirty floor and tossed them on top of the "pile" in his arms. She made sure that Jaskier could still breathe alright before taking a deep breath and nodding firmly at Geralt. 

Together they exited the cell, and after the woman returned the keys to their hook, they made their way back to the door. Tilli moved ahead and rapped her knuckles on it firmly and then stepped back as the guard from earlier pushed the door open and allowed them past. 

"Oh, sweet Melitele, that's foul." The guard exclaimed, backing away with a gloved hand pressed to his face as Geralt passed with his bundle. Tilli cast him a nasty glare. 

"You should stand in there and try to clean it."

The guard cast her a pitying look and another more prominent one towards Geralt, who was still holding the odor's source. 

"I won't ever say that I would like the experience if I'm to be honest. On your way, please, for all that is good. You might actually need to take a few baths before that kind of stench fades, man." 

Geralt cast him a stormy look, but given the circumstances, the man misinterpreted it as caused by the smell and simply waved them on as he moved to the side of the hall. Tilli gave him a curt nod, and just like that, they were moving away back into the servant's tunnels. 

If the passage inside had been easy, then the return trip was doubly so as every man and woman they encountered gave them a wide berth and pitying looks. Even the few guards they passed took care to veer from their path. Geralt hated every minute of it, but couldn't have asked for better fortune given the circumstances. 

They had almost reached the entrance they had left Regis at when someone called out to them. Freezing, the pair turned to see a stern elder woman walking quickly towards them.

"Tilli, what in the name of the goddess are you doing!" She snapped as she came to a stop near them, her face furious.

"Parading through the halls with such a thing. What if the Lord had seen you, or one of the guests! We would be shamed! Why haven't you disposed of it!"

Geralt had no idea who this woman was, but his patience was running thin. Luckily Tilli stepped forwards and quickly began to soothe the woman. 

"Ma'am, we were taking it outside. There is no use saving the wretched thing, so I was gonna have Regis burn it."

The woman seemed to calm only slightly at this, but she stopped getting closer, so Geralt simply waited. After a moment or so, the woman seemed to be unable to stand the smell any longer and back away a step, bringing a handkerchief to her nose and frowning.

"We will be speaking about the inappropriateness of how you handled this matter in the future, Ms. Furbanks, but for now I don't care what happens too it as long as it is no longer in these halls."

"Of course, ma'am!" Tilli was quick to assure the woman, and Geralt nodded as well. Both stayed there until the other had bustled off before Tilli gave a gusty sigh of relief and turned shooing Geralt towards the door.

"That was too close, we need to move."

The Witcher said nothing but began their hurried pace towards the servant's entrance once more. A few minutes later, the pair pushed out into the night, and both couldn't help but take a deep breath of fresh, clean air. 

In a moment of foolish weakness, Geralt carefully used his fingers to tug at the blanket near where Jaskier's head was and pull it away ever so slightly, hoping that he warm night air would be of some comfort to the man. He looked up from his task and met Tilli's gaze as she watched him, but neither said anything as she turned away and led them towards a small building not far down the slope. 

As soon as they were close, Regis flung the door wide and ushered them towards a small table attached to the side where a small mule and cart sat already hitched.

"I'll take you back to town where Lady Claria and Berra are waiting. They'll ride with you to the healer that lives outside of town. She's safe, I swear it. She's known me since I was a boy and has hated the Lord for even longer. Your armor and swords are already in the cart." 

Geralt nodded, and with the utmost grace and care, his Witcher reflexes afforded him, climbed into the back of the cart. Regis and Tilli quickly came around and tugged the rough covering up and over them, giving him matching nods of encouragement before his view of the world was completely cut off. A few moments later, he felt the cart lurch into motion beneath him, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. 

He had sat in a way that allowed the worst of Jaskier's back to lay in the space between his open legs so as not to accidentally put pressure on it, but he could still hear the quiet mewls of pain.

"Not much longer, Jaskier, you've done well. Just a while longer." He murmured into the darkness of the cart. Ever so slightly, he felt a shift that could have been the other man nodding before he was still once more. Exhausted and worried, Geralt laid his head back against the cart side and waited for them to reach the town, barely even noticing the steady stream of reassurance he breathed for the entire journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because this was getting so long I left it there, but its up to you guys what the next chapter is! I am willing to break away from the oneshot style and do a chapter following this one covering Jaskier's recovery, or I can just move on to another new scenario, totally up to what you guys want since I write this for all you lovely readers! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I love hearing your critiques and just your overall thoughts on the chapter in the comments so hit me up down there. I'm trying out responding to all comments this year because I learned recently that responses from the author are something people usually enjoy, plus I wanna be more engaged with you guys! Also as seen I am fully willing to take prompts for this story so feel free to send em my way as well!

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you think or about your own head cannons!


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